


Dollie Dearest

by federal_incident



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Gore, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dollification, Dolls, Ephebophilia, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Fetish Clothing, Genital Torture, Gratuitous Smut, Horror, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Lolita, Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov References, Murder, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, Porn With Plot, Possessive Kylo Ren, Prostitute Rey, Psychological Horror, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killer Kylo Ren, Serial Killers, Sex Addict Kylo Ren, Sex Addiction, Stalking, Yandere, no beta we die like men, yandere kylo ren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/federal_incident/pseuds/federal_incident
Summary: Famed horror novelist and serial killer Kylo Ren is trapped in limbo by his obsession with a young prostitute named Rey, and aims to reenact the novel Lolita with her at his side. However, he comes to realize that real nymphets aren't pristine dolls, as he's fantasized them being. And kidnapping a girl does not mean she will love you.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note to the Reader:
> 
> Please read the tags before continuing. This work is brutal, violent, and sexually explicit. Proceed with caution.

Her name was Rey. Plain Rey in a tied gingham shirt and cutoff jean shorts, skin bared to the afternoon sun and golden brown, chocolate colored curls braided in twin tails that hang from the back of her head. Her giant brown eyes blank as some fat fuck jams his cock inside her. Kylo presses his pale cheek to the apartment’s window, his dark gaze staring in past the lamp reflection and watching, attempting to peek past the John’s gyrating ass to see the perfect, bald pussy of his beloved Plain Rey. The window to her crotch never opens. The watcher nurses his painful erection against his jeans, rubbing himself through the fabric to satiate the ache of lust. The John lasts maybe ten minutes, and then spills a heavy load of semen on her perfect brown tummy before forking over a greasy twenty dollar bill and leaving. He takes the condom with him.

The watcher spends himself in his jeans just moments after, as Rey lays with her legs apart, soft, bare pussy spread and leaking with what was no doubt lube. She couldn’t have been wet. And he groans beneath his breath as he envisions himself spilling cum inside her perfect cunt, breeding her full with his seed. Getting her pregnant. Claiming her for his own. 

Kylo takes down the number on fatfuck’s license plate and goes back to watching her. Plain Rey was wiping her toned stomach with a towel, tears in those big eyes. He aches from the heart down. He could go in there and comfort her, wipe those pretty tears away while she did the typical kicking and screaming and  **_WHO ARE YOU_ ** , but she would be seeing another John soon. Plain Rey never let her body sit for long, not when there was money on the line. Her eyes skate over the windows and over him, and Kylo freezes. But she doesn’t seem to have seen him....because her eyes continue to look around before she pulls her jean shorts back on and leaves through the front door. 

Kylo Ren retreats into the hedges with his notes and eyes her on the sidewalk, walking with her little hips, not even fulled out yet, swaying while she made her way to a big guy in a ski coat smoking a cigarette. Her pimp, a guy named Plutt. She hands over the twenty and he grins with his crooked, tobacco-yellowed teeth, before shoving her back to the sunny corner where just fifteen minutes ago, she’d turned her last trick with fatfuck. She glistens in the light, dear Plain Rey, her tan flesh sweaty and oiled to attract the attention of passers by. Her little girl hips sway back and forth, the bones protruding just above the waistband of her jorts, freckled by years of playing outside. 

He’d thought of soliciting her before but that wouldn’t be enough. Having her one time would ruin it, no-- when he has her, and he HAS to have her-- it has to be forever, not just once. And as the sun sets and no more customers roll by, Plutt screeches and smacks her and leaves her to sleep on the bench outside, in just her pretty summer clothes. Kylo waits till she’s asleep and then drapes one of his coats over her small body, the demoniac girl-child looking woman, hating himself for leaving evidence of presence but hating even more, the idea of his lovely Lo being cold. He even thinks to kiss her hair but just aiding her in this way was enough to get him caught. And via his sleek black car, he peels away from the scene to pursue the johns. 

“Run the plate,” He demands. 

A redheaded man smokes off his cigarette and grunts at the intrusion of his dear, darkeyed friend. Kylo’s gaze is as red and hot as hell, threatening just by looking. Hux rolls the cig between thumb and forefinger, pale shoulders tensing and relaxing as he shrugs. Big, pustule pimples fleck his back. His white wifebeater is stained with god knows what-- and by the smell, the intruder assumes it to be rancid grease. “What do I get out of it?”

Kylo produces a fistful of hundreds and slaps them down on the desk next to Armitage Lumarius Hux, online alias HACKRB0y3. Hux looks at the money and scoffs, before lifting his burned hand, cigarette and all, to rub two fingers together. Kylo’s masked face sneers, and he jams a knee up against the back of Hux’s computer chair, before pulling a gun from his waistband and knocking it against the other man’s red locks. “I said run the fucking plate.”

His prey tenses, and then begins to tap away on the keys of his desktop. The keys clack as Hux feeds the plate number into his system and begins to crack at whatever website he used to seek people. Kylo watches as strands of binary code streak across the screen, meaning whatever the hell and not really making much of it besides his irritation that on the message board he’d found this useless piece of shit on… that Hux had advertised his services as being discreet, cheap, and quick. None of which it had actually been. 

The computer chimes and a face comes onto the screen, belonging to fatfuck, name: Jeremy Fitzpatrick, 43, and curiously living at 367 Mulbry Lane, in a retirement community. Hux prints off the information and hands it off to his captor. He does this four more times. And when Kylo is satisfied, he leaves an extra few bills for HACKRB0y3 and vanishes by the same means he’d entered the waxy old house-- through a window on the ground floor, facing out toward a dead garden and looking on the skyline of this perverse city. 

One by one he visits each John. All five of them live within the same basic square, within fifteen miles of each other, and not a one is under 40. Some of them are even married-- these he takes his time with, masked and glaring as he drags man after man back with him to his car, and drives them off into the night for his own lewd pleasure. He makes love to them with his blades, fucking metal into their guts and cocks and smearing their viscous fluids back onto their bodies before hacking the lot to pieces and leaving them there for the next to see. One, two, three, four, and fatfuck, for no reason besides hate for seeing such a horrifically ugly man claim his Plain Rey, his lovely little Lo, he’d dragged to that bad place and treated the worst. 

With giant serrated bread knives, he’d sodomized poor Jeremy Fitzpatrick till his intestines bore deep marks of torture, and shit and blood had leaked from his sliced-open anus. And luckily, poor Jeremy had died after their session of violent lovemaking and left his killer feeling full, and very, deeply, ultimately satisfied. 

The bodies, what’s left of them anyway, are thrown to Kylo’s Danes, and they tear into each of the five with that lust that Kylo had specifically purchased them for. A taste for manflesh can be bred into a hound, and that seller on BUYURDOG on the dark net hadn’t disappointed. Dark fur and red teeth flash as bone and muscle and organ turn to wet red slops on his back lawn. And when what very little remains of those five is dry, bare bones, the hounds return to their den to sleep off their sumptuous feast. 

Kylo showers. He spends an hour, maybe more in there. Hot water caresses his rippling muscles, turning pink as it rolls down his body and collects in the drain. His hair, black as india ink, plasters to his pale forehead in tentacles descending from his dark crown. He opens his mouth, full lips parting to emit a deep, full-bellied yawn. He felt good. Spent, tired, unbelievably full of his desire for Lovely Lo, little Rey in her jean shorts and gingham. With a tender smile he closes his eyes and imagines her sleeping. 

She was a girl of maybe eighteen, underdeveloped with her small tits and narrow hips, long nymphet legs. And in his imagination she writhes beneath his coat, a hand between her legs to finger desperately at her clit while smelling the collar. He groans slowly as he pictures it, a hand lifting to encircle his cock and pump it slowly. He imagines her looking right at him, pigtailed braids flagging while she bobs her head and beckons him near to fuck her. Moaning his name and meaning it, not that fake sound she’d make for the Johns to pretend like they were making her feel good. Kylo would make her feel good. He’d make her feel better than any man on earth.

He spends himself in his hand and water takes his cum down into the pipes. A soft gasp falls off his lips. When he’s good and clean, all the red gone from under his fingers, he steps out onto his bathmat and pulls on a black robe. He falls into his giant, overstuffed bed, lolls his head back against a dark satin memory foam pillow, and dreams of her. The little nymphet that wasn’t a nymphet at all, but a grown thing of age that he’d watched be booted from Saint Mary’s home for wayward girls on the day of her eighteenth birthday. Like she was trash. But she wasn’t trash, oh no-- not to him. Wobbling on her slippered feet like a newborn horse, her tan legs on display, this time in that perfect milky pink dress he’d purchased for her. Her thin, flat chest lifting with each breath, jewel-encrusted neck sparkling as though he’d dressed her in a galaxy. 

Kylo wakes in the afternoon that next day, body sore and tired. He tugs his cock again to the thought of her, and then makes himself a breakfast of coffee and toast before sitting at his computer and monitoring the traffic on his website. Comments flooded in by the hour. 

[12:53] Can’t wait for your next novel! I absolutely adored MESH.   
[12:57] Greatest horror author ever!   
[1:00] Where was all this hype when he wasn’t famous?  
[1:12] MESH was the best book I’ve ever read. #thenextstephenking

A smile graces his mouth. And then he cracks his knuckles and opens Microsoft Word, in order to begin his next writing spree.

He watches Rey again the next day. Different corner this time, but she was bringing them back to that same apartment. One of the johns had been cruel to her, either that or it was Plutt, but a harsh purple bruise shaded her cheek and offset her freckles, leaving Kylo’s stomach cold with hurt for her. Today she was wearing the same jean shorts, no doubt starchy and stained with cum, not that he was close enough to tell, and a dark cami, with little gold bangles on her wrists that jingle with each move she makes. Instead of five johns, today she has three. Kylo can tell she’s nervous. After all, what was happening to her regulars? How would she make her money?

Can’t make money if your regulars don’t come back. He smiles at this, and continues to take down plate numbers in his notebook. Only three was just fine in his opinion. Before the five he’d maimed, there had been eight, and before those, there had been ten, and before that, poor little Plain Rey had hardly been able to walk half the time because she was so… popular... but Plutt had loved her up and let her sleep in his bed and Kylo loathed it because it should have been him sleeping next to her, pulling her thin body near and peppering her tan throat in kisses. 

Three dispatched. It wouldn’t be long before there were no regulars, maybe one to two random customers, and Plutt wouldn’t have that. One cannot stay in Plutt’s good graces unless you aren’t a burden. And Kylo fully intends on making his little Lo a burden. But for now he strokes himself while he watches her exposing her thin body, swaying her hips like the little whore she’d come to be. Back and forth, back and forth. His eyes follow, dazzled, hypnotized by the movement. She tosses her windswept braids over her shoulder and lifts her face toward the sun. 

Soon…. She’d belong to him. 

That evening, after disposing of three completely guilty, lustful men, he’d returned to his home on the outskirts of town and settled down on a soft lounge to watch television in the company of his four danes. The eldest, a white-muzzled blue female he’d named ‘Bonnie’ but affectionately called Bon, sprawled lazily between his large legs, her head rested on his thigh and pointed in the direction of the TV, as though watching it for herself. The other three were pups descended from her, all blue with varying splotches of white and grey brindling. Triplet boys, neutered, named Dirk, Bowie, and Bear. The boys lay in various positions on the rug, drooling from big jowls and enjoying digesting the last of their big meal. 

Kylo watches the News, compulsive at this point. They were detailing the string of disappearances in the county, all his, by the names and photos, and that perky girl who had recently made anchor on this station chirped theories back and forth with her co-host. He doesn’t like the way she smiles. Too much gum on her teeth. She has a nervous tic that he makes note of: she blinks a lot. Idly, he wonders what it would be like to kill her. It might be nice, doing a woman instead of a man. Women, after all, were so much softer. But without the motive of his dear Lolita, poor Rey in her shorts and brown, slender limbs, he doesn’t want to bother. 

Annoyed enough by the anchor, he flips channels till he lands on a movie. Fitting that it would be a romance. The Notebook. It doesn’t keep his attention so he starts channel surfing again. 

Dissatisfied with all of it, he switches the television off and abandons the remote on the couch. He stands, and moves to his bedroom-- leaving his big lazy foursome of dogs behind. 

In his room he sits by his computer and stares at the screen. He pulls up his website to check comments again and it’s more of the same. Compliments from fans of his novels spewing that same recycled dreck they always seemed to traffic in. Great book, can’t wait, blah blah blah. Rolling his dark eyes, Kylo types into his browser a pornographic website and picks through tags, mildly annoyed when each thumbnail comes up. Not enough women in porn look like his Lo. And as irritating as that was, he simply had to release, and so he found a cheap imitation, a woman, perhaps mid twenties, with fulsome breasts and long brown hair and eyes that were the same almond shape as hers. 

She sucks cock on camera and Kylo strains to imagine her as Rey, sucking his massive girth into her cute little mouth and moaning around it, nursing the bulbous pink tip until he unloaded a thick load into the back of her throat. But the magic doesn’t happen and when Kylo finally finishes himself it had been an hour and he’d played and replayed the video near to fifteen times in order to focus on the scene where her eyes were prominent. Rey’s giant, sweet eyes, on the face of a whore. Just jerking off to another woman makes his heart ache. 

_ I’ve been unfaithful, _ it cries out. _ Unfaithful unfaithful unfaithful unfaithful unfaithful unfaithful! _

Moaning, he leans back in his chair and laments, silent, that that girl wasn’t his and learning to love sucking on his member as though it would cure dehydration in her. When he had her he was going to fuck every piece of her, and she was going to love it. Sex must have been ruined for her. She never seemed to enjoy it when he was watching her with clients, laying there like a ball-jointed doll, so beautiful, with tears in her eyes as men took her and threw her around on their cocks without care to reach their own orgasm. How he envied them, pushing into her tight cunt-- he was certain she would be the tightest, warmest, most inviting fuck. 

When he had her, he was going to take care of her. And she would learn to love sex with him, sex in general. He would spend days between her legs, licking that soft little bud while she leaked slick onto his chin. And he would be gentle when he made love to her. Real love, not like what he did to the men that had defiled her. He would make real love to her each morning and night, and make sure she came, and love her so fiercely that she’d cry tears of joy over his devotion. This was a promise he made himself. 

And his mind, so full to bursting with her, each piece of her youthful body, refuses to sleep until he’s cum again to a blurry image of her he has on his phone. Whatever sleep he manages is fitful, and filled to the brim with her. Obsession, only a word, doesn’t deign to come close to what’s going on in the mind of cult author Kylo Ren, formerly Ben Solo, disgraced son of athlete Han Solo and his mistress. The idea of his Plain Rey, his Lo, His Lolita, consumed him so completely that without her in his mind, his lungs would refuse to breathe. 

And he was certain, as certain as he was that he was going to die, that Rey would be his. And soon. And that they would live the fairytale love story that he knew she deserved. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild Emetophobia warning, also some non-con <3

She is so beautiful when she cries. Truly. Most girls have a complexion that swells like puff pastry when they weep, eyes that go red where there’s supposed to be white and skin blotching out in sick patches of pink. Not Rey. Her eyes glisten while she sheds her tears, big and golden in the sun, offset by the glittering of moisture and her wet, matted eyelashes. The bruise on her cheek is yellowing out by now. She’d been lucky. Randoms here and there had kept her treading water in Plutt’s good graces for nearly three days since he’d last brought her defilers to slaughter. 

But today he’d cured that fallacy. By slipping a cop some two thousand dollars cash, he’d had a car parked near her normal corner. That had scared the johns away. And now, as sunset was beginning to draw a dusky orange veil over the world, she was beginning to panic. Rightfully. As day slid slowly toward night, he could see how scared she was. Those tears so crystalline in her dollie eyes, sparkling like diamonds. Oh the poor girl. But Kylo knew it was a necessary evil. Today was going to be the day. She was going to be ousted from her little home life with Plutt and that would give him, her lover from afar, her rightful soulmate, the chance to pluck her up.

As he waits for nightfall, he scrolls through his favorite little fashion site based out of japan, adding this and that to his cart. Bubblegum pink jumper? Cart. Frilly victorian socks? Cart. Stockings? Lingerie of every pastel color? Cart, cart, cart. He’d already designed a room in his home for her, of dollhouse inspiration. White walls with creamy pink roses painted onto it, a twin bed dressed in soft, pastel blue sheets and a soft grey duvet. There was a small loveseat rested against one wall, lavender colored, with throw pillows embroidered with quotes from Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Kylo’s favorite novel despite its controversial content. 

Only the romantic quotes. No need to give his dear darling the idea that she was a prisoner. 

These matched a white wooden vanity, covered in pigments and powders of every description. And there was a closet with only a few dresses in it, clumsily picked, the space ready to be filled with the wardrobe of a lovely nymphet-like woman keen on staying young and beautiful forever. Just for him. The room was a little girl’s dream, the designer dollhouse room of a child, not an eighteen year old girl, or even a man in his late thirties…. A man like Kylo. He’s so sick with puppy love and hope for the future that when twilight descends on the earth and the angels water stars from heaven with their tears, he nearly misses the fight. 

Plutt is yelling indecipherably at her. Something about money and whores and profit. And then he cracks her on the side of the jaw and delivers a steel toe to her flat little tummy, an act that forces vomit from her mouth that sprays over the bottom of his silk pants. Plutt screams again at that, kicks her again, and yells a very clear  **_AND DON’T COME BACK!_ ** Before retreating into the apartment she had taken her tricks into to earn cash with her perfect, delightfully willowy little body. And Kylo hurts for seeing her hurt, but it gratifies him too… knowing that he’d be able to nurse her wounds, and make her love him. The way he loved her. 

When she comes to (and it, admittedly, takes awhile), he’s standing over her. 

“Ma’am?” He whispers, voice dripping with concern. Kylo reaches to help her to her feet but she smacks his hand away. “Ma’am? Are you alright? Poor thing, you must be freezing.”

She sniffles audibly. “Please don’t.”

“I saw what happened,” Kylo admits, his voice low and smoky, almost ashamed. “Please let me help you.”

She weeps but doesn’t resist him as he lifts her again, and ushers her, sobbing, into his car. The ease of it puzzled him-- after all, who would just get into the car with a stranger? What if he’d intended to hurt her? But this is a moot point. She’s his darling, his beloved, and he’s going to take good care of her. The first thing he notices when he’s closed her in and ready to start driving is the smell, how off it was. She stank of sweat and unwashed skin, of rancid sex and vomit. Upon closer inspection her hair seemed fretfully unwashed. Kylo frowns, but says nothing as he peels away from the corner and whisks her away, blessed, into the night. 

Dear Plain Rey says nothing as he drives her past the outer lip of town and toward his home on the outskirts. And even more nothing when he drags her out of his car and into his house. Frankly it’s almost disturbing how easy it was to take her away. If he were a legitimate kidnapper (laughable, that thought), he would have just had the easiest score of his life. In the house he sets her down on his living room rug and his Danes swarm her, Bon going to lick mournfully at her cheek, Bowie laying down and resting his big, droopy-fleshed head on her knees. Bear lolls his tongue out in that dumb doggy grin beside her, seeming unsure of how to approach. And Dirk, by far the most skittish of the group, sticks to his place on the couch, near to the opposite side of the room from the girl. 

Kylo fetches a washcloth and bends till he’s kneeling beside her, a hand lifted to wipe her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart…” He coos. “Oh my perfect darling, don’t cry.”

Rey, likely in a state of catatonia, remains silent and allows him to fuss. Tears continue to roll in fountains down her cheeks. She hiccups. Tender as he can manage, he pulls the girl near to himself and coos gently in her ear. “No more tears. I can’t stand it.”

And then his body tenses. He goes taut, stiff as a board up the ridge of his spine, searing pain splintering off from his neck where, at the curve of his thick white throat, the girl had sunk her teeth into him. Kylo growls and snatches Rey by the hair, dragging her thin body off him and throwing her to the floor. A spray of blood fans from his neck, smearing down over the black fabric of his shirt, turning purple on contact. He hisses. “You fucking bitch! I was trying to HELP you!”

Rey stares up at him, large eyes suddenly seeming to go clear. She pauses there on the floor, remaining in place. There’s a scintillating moment of eye contact before she leaps to her feet and scrambles toward the front door. 

Panic flashes in his mouth. He pounds after her, feet eating up the ground in large strides. He slides over the slick waxwood, shoes squealing. Rey, just a step ahead, grabs a commissioned artist’s sculpture of a woman’s torso and throws it to the floor, where it smashes to shards before his very eyes. 

He sees red. 

Another squeal of sole on wood, a slam. She manages to get the front door open a few inches and then he, just behind her, shuts it so hard it nearly shakes the whole house. Fear flashes in her eyes as she wheels her head around to look at him. Kylo’s mouth curls into a feral, sharp grin, and the hand on the door falls to her shoulder, and slips over her collar to the base of her long, lovely throat. He clamps his fingers around her neck, and drags her near to him. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rhetorical, but she still starts to stammer out a response. 

Kylo rears his arm, taking her along, and then slams her as hard as he can against the solid wood of his door. Her head thunks and bounces, and she sinks, limp, onto her knees. 

His heart races as he picks her up, cradling her little body in his arms. Tenderly, he inspects her, her face, her neck. A large pair of fingers rest upon her throat, in an attempt to find her pulse just to make sure he hadn’t killed the poor thing. He finds the thumping of her heart at the hollow of her neck, and exhales a sigh of relief. 

Kylo administers a sedative via a fresh, long-nosed needle, humming softly as he pumps the chemical into her system. It wouldn’t keep her asleep, but it would drag her beneath the warm waters of drowsiness, and allow her to relax. At least long enough until he could figure out how to keep her from freaking out. Gently he passes her from arm to arm, rocking her like a disgruntled girl-child, pressing kisses to her unwashed hair, her warm brown shoulders. And when he’s satisfied he’d given her enough time for the sedative to sink in, he takes her into the bathroom and lowers her onto the soft mat. 

He takes out a pocket knife and grips the hem of her shirt, digging the blade into the fabric and slitting it up the center. He exposes a soft, peach-colored bra, and coos gently while he dips the tip of his knife beneath the center strap between her small breasts. Kylo cuts the strap, and the bra falls away, exposing her pink, pert little nipples to his hungry eyes. Unable to help himself, he leans down and covers a tit with his lips. His tongue runs over the point of her breast, tasting her unwashed skin and vibrating as he moans. He slurps the soft bud at her chest, sucking it to a sensitive, stiff peak. 

His head lifts and he groans aloud, adams apple bobbing as he grumbles sweet,  _ Oh baby, Oh fuck, My baby girl.  _

Kylo finally lifts off her and focuses his attention on her shorts, just as stiff and scabrously drenched in cum as he’d thought they’d be. He presses the knife to her crotch, black eyes darting from blade to cunt and back again. Gently, he slides the knife between the soft skin of her thigh and the leg of her shorts, before flicking his wrist and slitting it up to her hip. And then again he shoves the blade against her thigh, cutting it up, ruining it, in order to yank the shell of the fabric off her lower half. 

To his pleasant surprise, she isn’t wearing panties. He lifts her leg and peers at her pussy, pink at the lips and stubbled over with soft pubic hair. She smells musky and deeply female, the nectar of her cunt dripping slowly, wet even as she rides the wave of unconsciousness. He dips a finger inside her without much care to how she feels-- she’s asleep anyway. “Fuck, baby…” He drawls, “Oh god your pussy is so tight. Gripping daddy’s finger so damn haarddd…. Gonna put my whole cock in there later. Fill you up. You’ll like that, huh baby?”

He pulls the finger out and waves it under his prominent nose, scenting her, delighting in her odor like she was a fine wine. 

Kylo leans over the lip of the tub and turns the knob. He runs his hand under the water, waiting for it to warm before taking little Rey in his arms and setting her into the water so that she’s leaned up against the porcelain wall. He plugs the tub and takes out a sweet-smelling almond bar soap, rubbing it between his large hands before rubbing those hands into her hair. Brown braids unmake themselves in his fingers, lathering as he rubs almond fragrance into her scalp. 

He hums quietly. Oh Carmen, oh darling carmen. The little nymphet’s head rolls to one side, her bruised face, tanned and freckled at the soft rounds of her cheeks. Her hair, clean and shiny in his hands, smells deeply of toasted sugars and that unmistakable aroma which was, Rey. Kylo turns her head so that he can kiss her unyielding lips. He’s so desperate for her to open her mouth, to kiss him in return, match his drugged, tantalizing movements with her lovely little tongue. 

The kiss is chaste but satisfying, and in the soft fluorescence of his bathroom he feeds on her unresponsive, open mouth. 

She needs to brush her teeth, her breath tastes mildly of stale saliva and whatever she’d eaten for lunch (A peanut butter sandwich?). Not that it would matter, of course. He was going to do that for her as well. Now that she was under his watchful (dare he say fatherly?) eye, she was going to be taken care of. As a doll must be taken care of by her collector. 

He washes her body with the care of a priest washing a pair of sinner’s feet, rubbing his soaped hands over her sun-browned skin, catching suds in the soft down beneath her arms and on her thin little girl-child legs. She seems to stir as Kylo washes one of her cute little feet, those big eyes fluttering open to look around and narrowing when they caught him kissing her toes, one by one, with the utmost loving care of a fetishist. With its chipped nail polish, soft soles and blisters from poor shoes. Clean and sweet smelling, he kisses it from the pointed little fishbone of her ankle to the pink nail of her biggest toe. 

She seems drunk as she rolls her head to one side, her pupils dilated to big saucers of ink. “I charge...extra… for that…”

“Shhh,” He returns, “Let daddy take care of you.”

Kylo allows the foot, so cute with its pruned flesh and skinny bones, to sink back into the warm water. 

She cocks her nymphet head, blinking her dark lashes at him, dollie eyes glittering in the soft light. Tenderly, he scoots closer to her, allowing his hand to catch her jaw and hold her porcelain face. He smiles, runs his thumb over her lips, and pulls her little head close to him so that he can kiss her once more. Again, she doesn’t react to this, but doesn’t seem to mind it. Her lips are deliriously sweet, and as he kisses her he manages a low, mournful moan at their depraved allure. “I love you.”

She says nothing.

“I’ve loved you since I first saw you.”

Again, nothing. Her eyes are as empty glasses. 

Kylo allows her head to rest against the wall of the tub once again, a mild sigh leaving him. He takes the cloth he’d been using to wash her and begins to work at the tender buds of her breasts, as small as they were, working sweet suds over the pink peaks that were her preciously adorable nipples. Her face turns pink, and she trembles under his touch, the sweetheart. He almost thinks to dip his arm into the water and touch her soft cunt, show her what pleasure there was to be gained by letting him care like this.

After what might as well have been a year of washing, he rinsed the girl off and drained the tub, collecting her in a fluffy white towel he’d had waiting in order to bundle her in a constraining burrito of fabric. In his arms, she is warm, light as air, that sleepy nymphic glaze to her eyes an initial hint of something demoniac and elven, full to brimming with promises of a secondary, sinful pleasure. He lays her down in his bed and devours her lippy mouth with his own. 

He sleeps with her in his arms, a tight cradle. Though it wasn’t before he’d shut his windows, barred them, locked his bedroom door, and rutted his aching cock against a downy, willowy limb till he’d messed his sheets with arousal. And as he’d slept he’d found himself at peace for the first time since he’d seen her, nearly a year before, a fresh-eyed girl of seventeen that he’d fallen in love with at very first glance. 

Rey in a park bench with her numerous wayward sisters, each normal girls with their hopscotch and chewing gum, and windswept braids that whipped at their necks as they moved. She was the demon among them, in her red Audrey Hepburn frock and painted lips, sultry voice that had been summer-cured, her brown flesh, spreading in honeyed swathes beneath the afternoon sun. He’d seen her once and she’d lived in his blood since, red hot and demanding, his Rey, his plain, perfect Rey. 

How dearly he loves her. 

And he recalls, as he sleeps, following her and her orphan sisters around the park like a lost puppy, always watching her from afar, a 36 year old man in his black summer attire, he liked to dress alternative, his mind still fresh with the recent manuscript of MESH… a story in which a man kidnapped a woman and held her captive in his attic. His most popular novel after OF MONSTERS AND MEN, another psychological horror that had grossed a great deal of attention and money. He feens for her even in these memories, each cell in his system yearning.

And he remembers going out of his way to watch her play in the park like a little girl, do her hopscotch and chalk artwork with other girls that did not, could not capture his attention. Day after day, in that park by his publisher’s office with the rolling green lawn and shitty jungle gyms. At least until she was forced out of that girl’s home. And he’d lost her. Till a month ago, when finally he’d found her again in the arms of that pig, Plutt. 

(Unlikely he’d forget about Plutt. Oh how Kylo has a special plan in mind for him)

But now she’s his. And he’s going to take care of her, and kiss her sweet mouth and fuck her the way she needed to be fucked. And treat her as his sweet little doll. 

His slave girl. Forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can y'all tell how manic i am while i'm writing this
> 
> also come hit me up on tumblr at @federal-incident, i do adam driver requests and i would like friends <3


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